


A Shot in the Dark

by chshrkitten



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief, Post-Canon, Revenge, Suicidal Ideation, carlotta has a heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chshrkitten/pseuds/chshrkitten
Summary: After the Final Lair, after the fire, after Christine, two people meet in the burned-out shell of the opera house. Both are grieving.





	A Shot in the Dark

When Erik arrives, she is standing before the mirror, because of course she is. What else has ever held her attention? 

She stands, back arched slightly and one hand up, pushing her hair back. Her plump white arms glow in the dim halo of the single lamp she must have brought with her, the only light in the prima donna’s burned out dressing room. She is the first person to enter this room since Don Juan. Since the fire. Since everything. Erik lingers in the doorway, loathe to be the second. 

“I'm surprised you came.” Carlotta breaks the silence, eyes still on the mirror. She draws a hand across it, wiping off the dust and ash, and tilts her head into a pose. “How did you know I was here?”

“My alarm system survived the fire, oddly enough.” His voice is rough from disuse-- the last time he spoke it was to shout, almost four days ago. _Go now, go now and leave—_ to shout, and then to whisper _Christine, I love—_

Very bad for the voice, anyway, especially since he’d been lingering here in the dust and soot ever since. He would normally never treat his instrument that way. “How did _you_ know _I_ was here?”

She rolls one shoulder in a shrug. “Every constable I asked said that no one in a mask left the building that night, during or after the fire. They were certain you burned to death, but I knew better.”

“How?”

“Call it…” she twists a smile across her face. “Call it women’s intuition for all I care. It doesn’t matter. So what did you do, hide in that underground lake from the stories until the flames went out?”

“How did you know?” He asks in surprise.

“You smell like a pond.”

He supposed he hadn’t changed his clothes since that night. There hadn’t seemed a reason to. But now the woman is speaking again.

“I imagine you know why I’m here, what I want from you.” 

“No, Giudicelli. I truly don’t know.”

_“Bastard, how could you not know?”_ The ice surrounding her voice shatters on this question, and she turned to face him with her eyes wide and wet. Without her broad back shielding her right hand from view, Erik could now see that she holds a revolver. “I came here to kill you, of course. You know, since you took away the only damned thing I had to care about.”

He knows immediately what she means. “The tenor. Piangi.”

“Yes.” She spits a laugh. “The tenor. Piangi. Who I rushed backstage to find when the fire started, only to find him lying there with a broken neck. Did you know, I tried to carry him out anyway, but no one would stop to help no matter how much I shouted? Because everyone but me could see that he was already dead. Did you know that I had to leave him behind, had to let him burn because there was _nothing I could do?_ Did the omnipotent Opera Ghost see that?”

“No.” Erik whispers. “Giudicelli…” He trails off, knowing that there is nothing to say. He had killed Piangi because the man was in his way, and had never thought to regret it. Nothing can soften that.

“I spent two days after that, locked in my flat and pacing the floor, thinking of what I would do to you, how I’d make you beg for mercy. I thought that maybe I’d make you get on your knees and plead for your life. And then I’d kill you anyway.” She shrugged. “It was a nice fantasy. Now that I’m here though, I think I’ll probably just shoot you where you stand.”

“I’d deserve it, you know.” 

They both wait. 

“What, you’re just going to let me kill you?”

He spreads his arms in surrender, or maybe in a plea. The sides of his cloak fly out like dark wings in the small room. “God, Carlotta. I could beg you to.”

The revolver trembles in her hand. 

Her green eyes glow through the dust of the air, and Erik thinks that her finger pressing down the trigger is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

The shot rings out.

Erik thinks, lastly, of Christine.


End file.
